


Wire, Cloth, & Milk

by pink_freud07



Series: CEE [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Chestfeeding, College Student Will Graham, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Omega Will Graham, Post Mpreg, Postpartum Depression, Professor Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29570988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pink_freud07/pseuds/pink_freud07
Summary: His hand is wrapped around the doorknob when he hears Will sigh.“Sweet thing,” Will says in the soft sort of way he usually murmurs to their pup. “Your Papa must really love us.”Will jolts slightly when Hannibal rests his hand back on his shoulder, but Will soon goes lax again. The motion doesn’t disturb their pup in the slightest; very little seems to distract him from his appetite.“Will?” Hannibal prompts, giving his partner a little nudge to tell his worries someone who will answer back.“Sometimes I think about what would have happened,” Will confesses. He has his shirt bunched up high enough to be able to look at Graham’s face. Will keeps his focus on their pup as he speaks. “I imagine: what if I’d never dropped my phone? What if I’d called you? What if I’d stayed home that morning? What if I’d not been so stubborn?”---Mini-sequel to Strange Situation: Snapshots from the first 3 months after their pup is born.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: CEE [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088015
Comments: 18
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

The click of the door very nearly coincides with the click of a camera. It’s only the fact that it’s very nearly and not _exactly_ that allows Hannibal to hear the difference. His posture is stiff as he turns away from the door and faces down towards the stairs. He'd hoped to be able to do something simple like taking a trip home - there and back again in no time at all. However, Freddie Lounds is nothing if not a _plan disrupter_. She seems to be dabbling in a very literal interpretation of _ambulance chasing_. They may not be near the emergency department, but lingering by a hospital exit is unfortunately near enough.  
  
“That was rude, Miss Lounds,” he states, eyes lingering on how Freddie lowers her camera.  
  
She’s there with curls neatly twisted and styled and she’s dressed for the job she wants. In bright, aggressive colors and busy patterns, she looks like someone for whom gossip is a matter of life or death. He’s sure she wouldn’t appreciate any sort of analysis behind what it could mean that the color of blood suits her best.  
  
“Did you really think I was above that sort of thing?” she asks with a scrunch of her nose that’s both teasing and mocking. “What does it say about your awareness of patterns in behavior that you can still be disappointed?”  
  
Hannibal suppresses a laugh. Freddie would think he is amused by her. In truth, none of this is a surprise and any disappointment he might feel would be entirely expected – which may render it something different from disappointment altogether. Despite what Freddie may think, he is aware enough of her to know that finer nuances are not her forte.   
  
“We evolved the ability to communicate disappointment to teach those around us good manners,” he reminds her.  
  
“Unfortunately,” she says as she tucks her camera safely away in her bag and takes a brazen step forward. “I didn't evolve the ability to feel shame.”  
  
“You should explore that in therapy,” he suggests as he makes sure to rebutton his suit jacket. It might be too late for the photos she captured and still it would help him to be buttoned up.  
  
Freddie laughs, but Hannibal knows well enough that the laugh was only for her own sake. “I tried to see a therapist once and it was under false pretenses,” she reminds him.  
  
He tilts his head and raises his brows as he tsks his tongue. “Happy to entertain you for a more genuine conversation,” he offers.  
  
He can admit to himself that there’s something in him that’s curious. He’d be interested in finding out what makes her _tick_. He could hypothesize about her callousness and opportunism, but hypotheses are never as satisfying as the results and discussion of them.  
  
“I imagine you would be in need of a clientele now that private practice will become a necessity. What havoc Will Graham can wreak,” Freddie muses as if she has any business giving sage advice. She purses her lips as if she pities him _so much_. She then gets over that pity quite quickly. “It’s good for me though,” she remarks. “I’ll be able to get a thinkpiece or two out of this.”  
  
His fingers twitch by his side. It’s the shift of fingers that longs to check on his newborn pup. He’s more familiar with the motion jostling Will’s fingers rather than his own. It seems whenever their pup is out of Will’s arms, Will feels it down to his bones. His fingers twitch and twitch as their pup sleeps, wanting to brush along the little one’s cheek but not wanting to wake him. Will himself might have risked not getting any sleep at all since their pup was born if not for how soothing the pup to sleep makes Will fall asleep as well.  
  
Even if he can stop his fingers twitching, the discussion of his partner has him keenly aware of just how _bleak_ the air seems without Will's presence to fill it. Although the hospital room is clinical at best, Will has still managed to give the air the heady tinge of an Omega who’s given birth to a well-nurtured pup.  
  
“I believe you were told not to write about Will,” Hannibal reminds her. In the absence of the ability to _unsay_ secrets and _unlearn_ information, the only thing the university seemed interested in using as punishment was to tell Freddie she couldn’t do _any more_ damage.   
  
“I won’t be writing about Will,” Freddie says and her smile turns _sharp._ “It’s you everyone will be fascinated with. _University Professor Impregnates Underprivileged First Year Protégé_ – has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”  
  
Hannibal hums and smooths down the front of his suit. “I’m sure you will choose the most emotionally-charged words you can think of.”  
  
Freddie smiles more and tips her head. Her curls bounce without a care in the world. “That’s what will get me the clicks and views.”  
  
Hannibal might almost taste a trace of bitterness on his tongue. It’s the same taste that seemed to coat his teeth when he first saw her “article” about Will’s pregnancy. As dread had sunken into his veins that day, his teeth had ground against each other and against his tongue. It had only gotten worse with every sentence he’d read and each of those sentences seemed to weigh just as heavily on Will and threaten to sink him too.   
  
“Someday you will know the human impact your words have,” he says.  
  
“My words are only the consequences of your actions, Dr. Lecter,” Freddie counters, twisting her neck to brush her hair over her shoulder as she brushes him off. “In that way, the impact is yours.”  
  
After that, Freddie proves that she can keep her word from time to time. She’s always shown she will do whatever suits her best so it’s no surprise that the promises she keeps are the ones that benefit her. By now, it's no surprise that what seems to benefit Freddie is what causes a cascade of consequences; somehow none of them seem to be her own.  
  
There is a balance in bureaucracy, a balance in saving face. They can’t look too lenient in dismissing the controversy altogether, but they can’t let the scandal get so big that the institution’s name is besmirched along with him. They let him take the summer months off for some sort of mix between administrative and family leave – punishment, acknowledgment, and some degree of pity all rolled in one. They let him do this with the knowledge that he would spend that time packing his belongings and clearing out his office.   
  
By now, the bookcases are nearly bare. The many books that were kept there and dusted with regularity for quite some time are now packed away in boxes. The desk has been cleared off and the frames have been unhung from the walls. The nails still stick out from the drywall as they’re left behind. The desk chair doesn’t belong to him and neither do the two seats positioned on the other side. Although everything else in the room might make it seem empty and lonely, that those two chairs are occupied constitutes all the company Hannibal needs.  
  
He watches Will as Will watches their pup cradled asleep in his carrier that's tucked into the other chair. Will looks everything and nothing like he did before. He still has his hair falling in waves to hang just above his shoulders. His features still hold a beauty and a delicateness even as he frowns. He carries with him a simultaneous awe and hesitance that might come from a lingering desperation to _not mess up._  
  
“You sit in that chair, Will, as you have so many times before,” Hannibal observes. “It holds among its molecules the vibrations of all our conversations ever held in its presence.”  
  
Will still stares at their pup even as Graham sleeps perhaps more quietly and peacefully than he ever has before. Sometimes Hannibal wakes up to find Will staring at the pup just like this. Just like he turns over in the nest at night, Hannibal walks around to the front of the desk, taking a seat by leaning against the edge. He rests a hand on Will’s shoulder and, when that is well-received, he lightly drags it across to touch at the nape of Will’s neck.  
  
Will sighs and closes his eyes as he lets his neck roll. His brow furrows as he licks across his lips. As he opens his eyes again, his fingers grip at the chair’s arms. When he looks around the barren room, there might be a reflection cast in the vivid blue of his eyes. And, in that reflection, Hannibal might find visions of the room’s former glory and the glory they found together within it.  
  
“All the exchanges,” Will muses as he gives a short, sharp, little laugh. He seems to consider their journey together - strangers, strange friends, clandestine lovers, soon-to-be mates. His smile is lopsided as he recalls, “The irritations, revelations, flat announcements of disaster.”  
  
“The grunts and poetry of life. Everything we’ve ever said,” Hannibal says, just as musing, but with maybe a bit more admiration. It’s true that this room is where Will fled when he felt sick and where they discussed the possible collapse of Will’s professional future. This room is where their connection has hung in precariousness. They sat here not knowing what they would be, what they would create, or what would come of it. Hannibal curls himself closer forward and slides his hand once again. This time he cups Will’s cheek in his palm and whispers in his ear, “Listen. What do you hear?”  
  
Will hums. It’s not quite a purr, but Hannibal wouldn’t expect to hear that outside of their home. “A melody,” he whispers back.  
  
“We’re orchestrations of carbon. You and me,” Hannibal admires as he kisses the many marvelous molecules that comprise his mate-to-be’s cheek and feels the way those molecules arrange themselves in the hair that brushes softly against Hannibal’s face. He pulls back only so that he can look towards their pup when he snuffles in his sleep. He and Will both wait with bated breath to see if that little noise will amount to something much _louder_. They both sigh quietly when the pup simply sinks back into his slumber. Hannibal laughs and he murmurs, “The three of us.”  
  
He only lets himself savor the stillness for a moment longer. They came here to gather the last of his things and he would much rather be with his family at home. When they’d discussed the events on the agenda for the day, he’d encouraged Will to stay in the nest, but of course Will had insisted on coming along. Hannibal goes back to stacking the last of his books in a box and picking up the last odds and ends and Will goes back to staring at their pup.  
  
Graham has lost and regained weight since he was born and has become a softer, plumper, little thing under his parents’ attentions. His hair has grown in brown like Will's and his eyes have shifted color more similar to Hannibal’s. His features seem to develop more and more into something beyond the general look of a newborn and into something his own. It seems to match how every development in their pup reflects his own unique personality.  
  
Graham starts to whimper and scrunch his face in discomfort just as the last box has its corresponding lid. Will’s hands quickly undo the plastic buckle to lift the pup from his seat before his whimpers turn into a _wail._  
  
“Why don’t you feed him while I load the last of the things into the car?” Hannibal suggests as Will sinks back into the chair with their pup in his arms.  
  
Will nods as he situates the pup a little better into the bend of his arm. He then gives a small smile as he says, “Sounds good.”  
  
Will’s fingers curl around the bottom edge of his shirt and it makes Hannibal wish he hadn’t suggested he do anything other than stay there beside him. Will feeding their pup is a sight to cherish. When feeding their pup, Will seems the most certain of himself, most certain of his ability to parent and provide, nature and nurture all in one. There’s a sated and satisfied contentment that blankets both parent and pup that Hannibal may never grow tired of seeing. But Hannibal keeps his word and they all would prefer to be back in the nest sooner rather than later, so he does as he said he would.  
  
When he loads that last box into the Bentley, he taps the top of it with a sense of finality. He also can’t help but find it surreal. It seems inadequate and glib to wonder if a past version of himself would have ever predicted such an outcome. Work has been his pride and joy when he had none. For hours upon hours and years upon years, his focus remained on some form of academia, both as a student and teacher. Now, there will be no more papers to compete or grade and the only thing he writes from now on will be documentation. When he closes his car door, he's returning to his office one last time. His hand is wrapped around the doorknob when he hears Will sigh.  
  
“Sweet thing,” Will says in the soft sort of way he usually murmurs to their pup. “Your Papa must really love us.”  
  
Will jolts slightly when Hannibal rests his hand back on his shoulder, but Will soon goes lax again. The motion doesn’t disturb their pup in the slightest; very little seems to distract him from his appetite.  
  
“Will?” Hannibal prompts, giving his partner a little nudge to tell his worries someone who will answer back.  
  
“Sometimes I think about what would have happened,” Will confesses. He has his shirt bunched up high enough to be able to look at Graham’s face. Will keeps his focus on their pup as he speaks. “I imagine: what if I’d never dropped my phone? What if I’d called you? What if I’d stayed home that morning? What if I’d not been so stubborn?”  
  
“Your imagination has the capacity to consider a variety of scenarios,” Hannibal says, soothing and praising at once. Will’s mind is a gift, but not one given for free. His ability to imagine all possibilities is an asset, but a treasure that’s easy to get lost in. “Tell me: what outcome do you imagine?”  
  
Will ducks his head. His hair falls in front of his face, so Hannibal couldn’t say if he closes his eyes or keeps them still fixed on their pup. “You could have kept your job,” Will says like he’s afraid of the words.  
  
Hannibal hums and brushes Will's hair back to see tears dotting his eyelashes. Their pup might have those long eyelashes too. “Keeping my job would have required us to keep secret for another three years,” Hannibal observes. “Enduring isolation unable to mate and thereby deny ourselves the ability to be as entirely _with each other_ as we would like - even when we were alone together.”  
  
He brushes his thumb across Will’s cheek, which is still flushed slightly pinker with the glow of a recently-whelped Omega. Will sometimes presses the backs of fingers to his cheeks and Hannibal knows that’s an effort to cool the warmth of the flush, but Hannibal might never want it to fade.  
  
“I would much rather have you as a mate than a student,” Hannibal says and it’s true. His job was once his only pride and joy, but isn’t now. “I love your mind far too much to be denied any of your presence.”  
  
Will hums. The nod of his head is one of someone trying to sink a feeling deeper within, soaking it into the space that’s been too haunted by shadows, nightmares, and darkness. Their pup gives a snuffle as Will sighs and they both share in some newfound contentment together. It's with that softening contentment that Will is easily coaxed into a kiss. This press of their lips together is the first they’ve been able to really enjoy _unrestrained_. This is the office’s parting gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to take so long to post this! This will be a mini-sequel (Maybe 10-12k words?), so it will be much short than the first fic. Thank you again to everyone who read that fic and an extra special thank you to everyone who left a comment!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a tag just to be careful.

Will rubs at his eyes with his knuckles. He’s reluctant to wake for the day but isn’t sure he could fall back asleep. His eyes and his mind feel weighted with fatigue, but he’s lucky to have slept so much already. When his knuckles fall away and his eyes crack open, his pup is there in the nest next to him like he has been since the day they returned to the nest as two separate people.  
  
The pup is asleep on his back, swaddled in a blanket and tucked in between two pillows. Hannibal must have made sure everything was arranged properly before he left for work. Will doesn’t remember waking when his partner did, but he also doesn’t remember the last time Graham was fed and that’s probably only because he’d mostly been asleep. There have been times when he’s woken up to Graham feeding because Hannibal’s spared Will the need to deprive himself of sleep in the process. Hannibal knows Will always feels bone-tired these days.  
  
Will watches his pup as Graham sleeps. Will does this a lot, but still never seems to get his fill. Will finds he wants to cherish moments of stillness like this with a pup warm, sleepy, and content in the safety of the nest. He finds he feels like he _has to_. It’s difficult to believe that these kinds of moments aren’t finite and limited – if he lets one slip through his fingers, he might never get it back.  
  
He has to hold himself back from reaching out and touching the pup, even though Will _loves_ to nuzzle his nose against the pup’s round, little head and smell the precious thing’s precious scent. That’s a miracle on its own. _Scent_ has been something that has plagued Will in many ways, _especially_ while growing this very pup. But Graham smells like _home_ and _good health_. He smells like Hannibal from time spent with the pup cuddled up to his sire. He smells faintly of milk from times when he’s held to Will’s chest. The more Will thinks of it, the more his hand twitches to hold the pup close.  
  
But he keeps his hand still and tries to be as quiet and careful as he can be as he cuddles closer to the other side of one of the pillows bracketing the pup. The nest is a bit stuffy. Layers of blankets and pillows make for something comfy and cozy, but being in the summer months might start to make it creep closer to _stifling_ and dampens Will's skin with sweat.  
  
Will sometimes feels the desire to meld with his nest. He lies flat on his back, closes his eyes, spreads his fingers, and imagines transforming to water, every cell liquifying and soaking into the fabric and down into the mattress. He would be absorbed into the comfort of blankets, pillows, and clothes carrying the scent of his pup and partner. He wouldn’t have to do anything or be anyone other than that.  
  
But then the pup cries and Will turns back into the parent Graham needs – or as close as he can manage. As the little pup’s face screws up to express his displeasure, Will clicks his tongue and can finally lay his hand against the pup's arms as they shift fitfully within the confines of the blanket.  
  
“Good morning, sweet thing,” Will whispers to the pup, which surprises the pup enough to distract him from his crying. Will leans over the pup and nuzzles their cheeks together. He smiles as he smells the scent he was missing and whispers, “Did you miss me while you were sleeping?”  
  
The pup snuffles with his nose so much that it makes him sneeze and Will laughs. “I missed you,” he promises the pup and it’s true. His dreams had been plagued with nightmares of holding his pup but being unable to focus on Graham's face. He'd tried over and over but everything was a blur. Now that they are both awake, Will’s happy to be able to actually _see_ the pup’s little eyelashes, the lips that seem more like Hannibal’s with each passing day, and hair that twists into curls more and more as it grows.   
  
When the pup remembers why he’d been crying, Will pulls Graham into his arms. He pushes up his shirt in a motion so frequently practiced, that it’s second nature by now. But as much as the motion has become a habit, the sensation of feeding his pup still holds some of the same desperation to cling to the moment.  
  
“I don’t know how your Papa can manage to be away from you all day long,” Will murmurs to their pup as he taps his finger against the back of Graham’s fist as it clenches and opens. The pup’s much tinier fingers spread wide enough for the knuckles to disappear into little divots. “At least we know your Papa doesn’t do it because he likes it.”  
  
Now that Hannibal is in the business of private practice, he's working more than he had been when he was on “family leave.” He doesn’t have anywhere near a full caseload yet and probably won’t for a while, but he still has to go into the office from time to time. He’s been interviewing receptionists and sending in paperwork to insurance companies and all sorts of things that make Will want to go back to sleep just thinking of them.   
  
The pup’s cries remind Will that he’d missed his chance for sleep when he'd spent his time staring. “Oh, you poor thing,” Will tuts as he brushes his thumb against the pup’s reddening cheek. “Do you miss Papa too?”  
  
There will be a few more hours yet until Hannibal comes home, so the both of them will have to wait – as much as mother and pup both would rather not.  
  
Will’s stomach clenches to remind him of his need to eat too. He’s sure Hannibal will have left him something for breakfast. Hannibal makes all manner of things and leaves reheating instructions when necessary. He knows otherwise Will would eat a bowl of cereal and call it a day. Today, Hannibal has left him another _berry-beet açai breakfast bowl_. The first time Hannibal left it for him, he didn’t understand why Hannibal would leave him a smoothie in a _bowl_. He’s used to it by now though.  
  
Graham watches from his seat while Will sprinkles on the various portioned toppings like he’s supposed to. Hannibal made sure the pup could have that special seat close enough but also far enough away so he could safely watch as his Papa cooked – and how _lovely_ that had been for Will to witness. Will remembers how _happiness_ had brightened the scents of both sire and pup and smiles.   
  
Graham’s cry is one for attention. Will couldn’t say how he knows that; he can only say that he’s learned the difference. The spoon clinks against the bowl as he sets aside what’s left of his meal and moves within reach of his pup. Graham grasps at his finger and _squeezes_ as hard as a pup can.  
  
“What is it, my perfect pup?” Will questions with another couple _tsks_ of his tongue. As always seems to be the case, part of his brain reminds him that his pup could hardly be _perfect_. He can be such a _demanding little thing_ for one. But it is nonetheless always true that the word _perfect_ is the one that arises first and foremost. “What is it that you want now, my sweet?”  
  
The pup tries to yank on Will’s hand but lacks the coordination. It’s okay. Will understands. He brushes the backs of his fingers against the pup’s round cheek and smooths down the wild curl of the pup’s hair over and over even though it springs back to the same mess every time.   
  
Will’s head jerks to the side when the doorbell sounds. His hand halts in its movement and the pup huffs in complaint – the only warning he’ll give before Graham _cries_. Will quickly scoops him up from his little seat to try to appease him before he _wails_. He clutches his pup close to his chest as he approaches the front door and he cradles Graham in his arms as he looks through the peephole. He sighs as he unlocks the door and pulls it open.  
  
“Morning,” Alana says cheerfully with a takeaway coffee cup in each of her hands.  
  
Wearing just jeans and a flowy, cotton shirt, she’s dressed for the summer months when the weather is hot and she has little to be professional for. Will knows less about her academic life now that Hannibal isn’t her advisor anymore. They'd managed to finish her dissertation without too many problems because of Hannibal’s good sense in planning and that seemed to put the last stamp on that working relationship. There’s no reason she should be on Hannibal’s doorstep.  
  
“Didn’t hear you drive up,” Will says as he shifts his pup in his arm and keeps hold of the door.  
  
“Hybrid,” Alana says simply. The loops of her curls sway as she looks back towards the road; they sway again when she looks back at Will. “Great car for stalking,” she adds with a wink.  
  
“Um,” Will starts as he squints his eyes, furrows his brows, and licks his lips. His heart beats harder the longer the door is open. With each second, it seems that the fortress his home offers could be breached. Alana might start to seem like the Trojan horse. “Why are you here?”   
  
“To come to see how you are,” Alana says warmly, smiling at the pup in his arms. She can likely sense the tension in the air, so she turns her kind smile to him. “I was hoping we could have coffee and catch up – and meet this little guy, of course.”  
  
Will hesitates. He wasn’t prepared for this when he woke up today. He expected the day to be what he expected: the same as the day before, the same as the day after. There has been a routine more or less and anything too far beyond the _more_ or _less_ has felt outside the bounds of what’s possible.   
  
“I’m still in my pajamas,” Will says, feeling particularly exposed in a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt that’s a leftover favorite from when his belly was its biggest. It’s baggy on him now.  
  
“I have brothers,” Alana reminds him with a shrug as if there really is nothing to object to.  
  
“Still—" Will tries, only for her to cut him off in a way that conveys how she anticipates but doesn’t hesitate.  
  
“Let’s have a cup of coffee,” she insists with a wrinkle of her nose. She holds up the cups as if he might not have noticed them as she continues, "I wouldn't want this to go to waste."  
  
She takes a confident step forward and then another. For a split second, Will might consider closing the door in her face, but he catches himself just as the muscles in his arms tense. He drops his arm away instead and lets her in.  
  
He regrets it as soon the front door is closed.  
  
Alana’s eyes scan _everything_ and _everywhere_. She sees the pacifier left on the table in the foyer, right beside one of Hannibal’s fancy, seasonal centerpieces. Will remembers when it was a little Christmas tree. That seems so long ago. Will shifts the pup in his arms as Alana’s eyes trail over the curtains drawn closed at every window.   
  
“It’s gloomy in here,” Alana observes and it’s true. With the sunlight blocked and only a couple of lamps turned on, it could easily seem like evening time instead of morning.  
  
“Well, that’s me all over,” Will says with a hollow laugh.   
  
Alana doesn’t laugh with him, only hums.  
  
They drink their coffee in study. Will tries not to think about how his desk lacks dust only because Hannibal would never allow dust to accumulate. He keeps Graham held in one arm and holds his coffee in the other even though the pup would much rather Will’s hand was only holding him. Will hardly seems able to take a sip without the pup making his discontent known.  
  
Will's phone also keeps buzzing against the couch. It’s a new one and he’s never even heard it ring. He couldn’t risk the noise with a newborn pup. The phone buzzes and buzzes until it might vibrate itself off the edge of the cushion.  
  
Alana drinks her next sip of coffee with much more care and attention than it needs, pretending she’s savoring it rather than thinking about what she should say next. When she turns her head to look at him more directly, he knows she’s decided on something.  
  
“Hannibal?” she observes with a nod of her head towards the phone.  
  
Will scoffs. “Who else would it be?”  
  
“Should you answer?” Alana asks and her brow starts to furrow in the way Will remembers. “Will he worry?”  
  
“He might think we’re taking a nap,” Will says dismissively as he looks down and away, his eyes landing on his pup as they so often do. When he breathes in through his nose, he catches Alana’s scent without intending to. With so much time spent only at home, he hasn’t had to concern himself with scents outside of his little family. Alana’s scent is by no means pungent, but it’s still _overwhelming_. He tries to control the wrinkle of his nose as he says, “You don’t have to worry about me, Alana.”  
  
“Is that true?” she asks as she shifts in her seat to face him even more, showing in the positioning of her body that her attention and care are focused solely on him.  
  
Will raises his brows as he sighs. “I think Hannibal thinks I’ve got the baby blues.”  
  
Alana’s gaze bores into him even without his having to see it. Her tone is so _carefully direct_ as she says, “I think he thinks you’re afflicted with more than the baby blues.”  
  
“Did he tell you that?” Will asks and something within him might seem to sprout claws. It grabs at his attention in a way that has him no longer fearing looking her in the eye. “When did you find the time?”  
  
Alana doesn’t flinch. She just keeps looking at him with the wrinkle in her brow. “He didn’t have to tell me.”  
  
“You can diagnose me on sight then?” Will remarks with a bitter laugh. “That’s a fun party trick. Very lucrative in your profession.”  
  
Alana looks like she might want to reach out and touch him, but she’s not sure if she’s allowed. Even if she doesn’t _actually_ do it, he can almost feel it anyway. “You look exhausted.”  
  
“I have a _pup_. They’re notoriously tiring,” he reminds her. “Hannibal is exhausted too. It’s just the only way to tell with him is if his paisley tie doesn’t _quite_ match his plaid.”  
  
“You look a certain kind of exhausted,” she continues. “And don’t say you don’t know what I mean. You know what that looks like.”  
  
Will does know what that looks like. He’s seen it in many sessions behind a one-way mirror. He’s watched Alana scrunch her brows like this. He’s heard her soften her voice like this. He knows how she maneuvers around resistance.   
  
Alana sets aside her coffee on the table in front of them. The prop and excuse aren’t needed anymore. “Have you been able to connect with Graham?”  
  
_“Yes,”_ Will snaps. He feels the claws that might have been at first defensive sharpen further. He sets aside his coffee too so that he can clutch his pup closer. The pup makes a huffing, snuffling noise as if to say _finally_.  
  
Alana pulls in a deep breath and then hesitates. “When I said what I was going to say in my head, it sounded really insulting, so I’m going to find another way to say it.”  
  
Will rolls his neck and then rolls his shoulders. “Say it the insulting way.”  
  
“Will, you need help,” she urges. “You have an incomplete awareness of yourself. There are pieces of yourself that you just can’t see.”  
  
“You think I’m afraid to see it.”  
  
“Say I have a client, who refuses to leave the house, who describes himself as dark, who clutches his pup to him like the babe might disappear if he blinked,” Alana suggests the way she might at supervision when asking for consultation. “What would you recommend for treatment?”  
  
Will closes his eyes and grits his teeth. At the mention of how he holds his pup, he loosens his arms – only to tighten them again a moment later. His muscles are sore with fatigue and his eyelids feel heavy. He wants to go back to the nest and hide away with his pup. Anything other than that might feel like too much to manage. His role as a student seems like a giant question mark – part of him wants to go back, part of him dreads it. He recalls people who described wanting to stay in bed all day. He remembers clients who both felt like they were drowning and, at the same time, were overwhelmed by the idea of change and the _effort_ involved.   
  
“You know the answer, don’t you?” Alana says, not with accusation but with care. “You don’t have to say it yet. I just hope that one day you find a way to _say it_ even if it’s just to _you_.”  
  
After Alana has made her point, she does him the kindness of leaving him to think. She lets him seek out comfort as he wrestles with the _discomfort_ brought on by what he’s been left to ponder. Will and his pup retreat back towards the nest as instincts for care, nurture, and comfort might urge him to do. But, when he goes upstairs, he manages to keep his momentum going, moving right past the mound of blankets and pillows to instead look at himself in the mirror.  
  
He sees the mess of his hair, the shadows under his eyes, the way his shirt hangs off of him, wrinkled and dotted with dried milk. His perfect pup’s eyes fight against sleep even though sleep will ultimately win and the pup just doesn’t know it yet. Graham will fall into a slumber that smooths away any twist from a frown, whimper, or cry. Will sometimes envies that sense of peace. The only balm to that envy seems to be curling around his pup and trying his hardest to join Graham in his pleasant, little dreams.   
  
Will loses track of how long he spends looking in the mirror, but just when he thinks he might speak, Hannibal comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should apologize for making this chapter so sad. This chapter puts the Hurt in Hurt/Comfort.


End file.
